The Story of Serverus Snape
by quiet-apparition
Summary: Rated R for language and not much else. The title isn't the full one by the way, it wouldn't take all of the letters it's "I've an adolescent in my lap and I'm not afraid to use him - The Story of Serverus Snape"


Disclaimer: Just so you all know, I am not JK Rowling. I am a middle class high-school girl from Australia and am defiantly not the richest woman in Britain or even one of them and, in doing so, do not own Harry Potter. If I did I would not be rich anyway because I do not really have that much talent in writing, as you will soon discover. But don't let this put you off, read this and review it and flame it all you want.  
  
A/N : I currently have no idea what to write, and so cannot warn you of any future happenings. I think I might write from Snape's point of view, he seems to be fun. Anything you read from this point in has no direction. Oh, and yeah Snape tends to swear quite a bit in my mind.  
  
I've an adolescent in my lap and I'm not afraid to use him - the story of  
Serverus Snape  
  
Chapter One  
  
The job description didn't say anything about this.  
  
I'll admit it mentioned tears. Tears of students whose self-esteem you recently destroyed. Having to substitute and getting every practical joke imaginable. Being fired. But never the tears of a student looking at you for guidance or support. Especially not a boy.  
  
Especially not a Malfoy.  
  
I think going to Azkaban would have been better than this. Anything would be better than this.  
  
Well, not anything .  
  
But Azkaban would definitely be better then having an adolescent boy whose Father has recently been killed sobbing in your lap.  
  
I should probably move his head just in case someone walks in but I just can't bring myself to do it. The poor boy's been through so much.  
  
I wish that excuse worked for me. It would make my behaviour almost acceptable. Except for having an adolescent boys head in my lap, I'm not sure if anything acceptable could explain that.  
  
He's lifted his head now and is staring blankly at he wall. From the way he looks at it you can tell he doesn't see it, not that he could with that amount of tears. Crying doesn't suit Draco. His face goes all red and blotchy. Mind you his hair still looks great, immaculate as always.  
  
He's saying something now, but his throat is so tear-choked that I just can't hear it. If I can just coax him to say it louder...  
  
Ah.  
  
I didn't want to hear it.  
  
I'll have to send him on his way now. Saying that in front of a teacher (especially me) just isn't acceptable.  
  
He's stopped crying and has finally stood up. His face, although tear- streaked, has managed to retain Draco's usual hint of disdain. Seeing this it's hard not to laugh. But using all my self-control I manage to keep a sympathetic face. He looks a little unstable on his feet. Every few seconds his head dips forward and I almost get up and offer him my chair. In fact, I'm not sure why I don't. Old habits are sometimes hard to break. I'm beginning to think that if he takes death this way he'll never make a good death eater. Well he wouldn't make a good one anyway, not subtle enough.  
  
I think I should do something comforting, or at least say something. This is what I come out with.  
  
"He was a barstad anyway."  
  
Shit.  
  
I don't think that worked. Oh no, he's laughing now. Not a mad hysterical laugh or a sad one, a genuine full-throated laugh, probably the first in his life. Even though he's the student I like the most I have to admit he can be a cold-hearted prat. Reminds me of myself when I was young, misguided and arrogant.  
  
"Yeah, he was."  
  
His voice is deathly quiet, low and rasping, not the voice that a child should have.  
  
There's a pause. He screws his nose up a little as if he's concentrating.  
  
"You know something? I never really believed in death until now."  
  
Fuck, what have I done?  
  
And now he's smiling, a big toothy grin with more then a little hysteria in his eyes. I was wrong before; the kid's criminally insane. Another fucking Bellatrix.  
  
"I can't believe he's gone, he's not gone."  
  
Oh shit, he's crying again. Huge wrenching sobs that shake his whole body. His robed legs crumple and he ends up on the floor. My eyes begin to water as I watch him lying there, tucked in a ball, a helpless, hopeless wreck. So much for immaculate hair.  
  
I think I'll leave him here to cry it off. The last thing he needs is someone who was trying to kill his Father comforting him.  
  
Or crying with him.  
  
The walk from my desk to the door seems to take forever and each of my footsteps resounds around the stone walls. I run my hand along each of the desks feeling the texture of the grain underneath my fingers. It seems to take my mind of the sobbing boy in the corner.  
  
At the door I look back at the boy who's creating a small ocean on the floor. With a flash of inspiration I remove all sharp pointy objects from the room and take his wand off him. Just to be sure.  
  
Satisfied he'll be ok I leave the room, closing the door slowly behind me. The wood has never seemed so heavy, the hinges; so badly oiled.  
  
Before the latch clicks shut I hear his voice, the baritone of manhood completely gone, and I know I'm wrong.  
  
"You'll be with your mud-blood mother soon, Potter. Sooner then you expect."  
  
That boy will make a fine death eater.  
  
A/N: Well, first chapter done. At first I was going to side with Draco not giving a shit about his Dad, but then I remembered what he said to Harry at the train so its sadistic, cruel Draco for you. But the plot from now on? Absolutely no idea. Should I continue with Snape's p.o.v? Won't write anymore (unless I get a flash of inspiration) till I get feed back so please review. I'm not sure how long I'll be able to continue with this style. Maybe if I change p.o.v to someone else I can get away with it on the basis that they think differently. Oh well, it'll come to me. 


End file.
